


In the eyes of a child

by nea_writes



Series: chut, je rêve [4]
Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Bible phrases, Gen, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Religious Mentions, Timothy adores Allen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 16:29:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8453542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nea_writes/pseuds/nea_writes
Summary: Timothy has always gone to church, but he doesn’t know God. Yet, sometimes, he think he sees Him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the scene at the end of Silent Hill:  
>  _"Why did she not take me  
>  with the others?_
> 
> _Because you're her mother.  
>  Mother is God in the eyes of a child."_

A deep tolling rang through the church, echoing against it's high ceiling. Timothy looked up, resting his head along the back of the pews. Up, up, up stretched the walls, tall glass stained windows throwing rainbows on the ground. There were angels, soft eyed with glorious wings, and Timothy wondered if they had ever seen the glow and brilliance of Innocence.

Allen shifted beside him, grasping Timothy's sleeve. "It's about to start, sit straight."

Scowling, Timothy complied and shifted forward, mimicking Allen's ramrod posture. At the head of the congregational stood a man in glorious thick robes, heavy and creasing at his arms. As if to mimic the heavy bell ringing overhead, there were smaller bells, carried by altar boys.

There was this entire ceremony just to get the priest in front of the altar, and, frankly, Timothy didn't care.

He didn't care about the Eucharists or cup of wine. He didn't care about the beautiful choir harmonizing, voices rising as if to reach the heavens themselves. God was a dead thing to Timothy.

This mass, filled with scientists, exorcists, CROWs, finders, staff, anyone and everyone, was very different to what Timothy was used to. Every Sunday morning Mother Superior had them dressed nice and neat in their very best - one outfit was all could be afforded to give each child, so it was the same outfit every week - and scurried then them down wet pavement stones down the road to a stone and tower church that looked years old and heavy with rain.

There they were shuffled into the same two pews, sandwiched on either side by the sisters. Timothy had always been sat firmly beside Emilia, who wouldn't hesitate to pinch his arm hard when he began to move too much.

The priest would smile, and with the assistance of one boy begin the ceremony, voice deep and far-reaching. There were no bells or candles waiting to be lit or choir boys. Just the soft rustle of bible pages turning and the priest's intoning words.

Here, it was all too grand and too much, and Timothy found himself caring even less than he had before. At least now he got to sit beside Allen, who looked just as bored out of his mind as Timothy was. He nudged Allen's calf with one of his dangling feet and earned a playful shove back that left Timothy's feet swinging.

They played a little more like this until Lenalee slapped Allen's arm with a hissed _'behave!'_ Allen gave Timothy an amused grin before he settled back down and Timothy sighed, resigned to another boring mass.

The priest went on preaching for a bit, interrupted occasionally by harmonizing, candle lighting, and bell shaking, and then as one the congregation rose. Timothy jumped off the pew, tottering on one foot and grabbing Allen's sleeve. He hadn't been paying enough attention but his growling stomach informed him that they were at the part of mass where they all walked to the altar.

In a horrendously long line Allen and Timothy shuffled forward, Allen in front of him. They wore their Exorcist uniforms for mass since it was, quite literally, garments that marked them as God's warriors. Or something along those lines Timothy had been told.

_“The Lord Jesus, on the night he was betrayed, took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, ‘This is my body, which is for you; do this in remembrance of me.’"_

Timothy watched as the priest laid the Eucharist on Allen's tongue, thumb rubbing a wet cross against his forehead. Allen's eyes were closed, pale lashes against pale cheeks, serene as the angels hovering above them. The wet skin gleamed beside the devil's mark.

Timothy stood still as the priest pressed the body of Jesus against his tongue. When he had first entered the Order he had been pulled aside by Komui, who, after the lecture on his Innocence, asked if he understood what the breaking of bread and drinking of wine meant. Timothy had rolled his eyes and said, _'of course',_ and then Komui turned to a man in robes and said that Timothy would be allowed to take communion with the others.

It had unnerved Timothy. The church back home hadn't allowed Timothy to yet, and Mother Superior had said he would when he was 'ready', whatever that meant. The priest painted a cross on his forehead, and then Allen moved forward.

Timothy trailed after him, hand clutching the cloth of Allen's uniform.

_"In the same way, after supper he took the cup, saying, ‘This cup is the new covenant in my blood; do this, whenever you drink it, in remembrance of me.’ For whenever you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes.”_

Allen took the cup and tilted it forward, hair falling back with the motion. The rich red wine passed from the golden gilded cup and through his lips, his throat moving as he swallowed. He hand the cup back and wiped his mouth, his thumb smearing the red across his lips, the pristine white of his glove stained. The priest took the cup and wiped it clean with a cloth, presenting it to Timothy.

Always, he hesitated, eyes darting to Allen who smiled and nodded. Timothy took it, swallowed a quick sip, and then hurriedly handed it back to the man who laughed softly, wiping the cup clean once more.

They followed the line back to their seats and once everyone was done the priest began preaching and Timothy tuned him out, the taste of wine weighing on his tongue and the image of the Eucharist on Allen's lingering.

Right about the time his butt was falling numb it ended. Allen stood and Timothy quickly followed, wiggling about to get feeling back into his legs. Allen laughed and poked his side, and Timothy retaliated by stomping on his foot. Allen grabbed his hands and held them up, twisting Timothy until he stood on Allen's feet. Lenalee laughed behind them as Allen walked them forward, and Timothy giggled at the strange sensation of being moved. He looked up and saw Allen's smile, hair falling around his face and framed by the rainbows of light.

Timothy walked on Allen's feet until they reached the end of the pew, where Allen gently nudged him off. "It's too crowded," he said, and Timothy scowled but complied.

He stayed close to Allen's side until they poured out from the church's tall heavy doors. They reached up high as the ceiling, and the Order's clean pale halls greeted them. Finders left as did staff members, and scientists and Exorcists stayed to mingle. It confused Timothy they didn't all stay together, but Emilia had hushed him last time he'd asked, so Timothy just observed.

Timothy hated these times right after mass, because everyone wanted to talk boring things, even Allen, and there was no one Timothy's age. So he had to stand around and wait as they made polite talk. Polite! Allen was the worst of them all at it! If there was one flaw Timothy could find with him, it was that he played the gentleman act down to a fault.

But even then Timothy couldn't begrudge him. Allen had whispered to him once that people were more inclined to give you favors when you smiled, and then had demonstrated it to the bakery nearby, earning two loaves of bread. Wistfully, Allen had said he wished he had known this as a child.

Finally, they were done. Allen left to the mess hall and Timothy eagerly trailed after him, wary of Emilia snatching him up for another lesson.

* * *

It was some time afterwards when they found Timothy hadn't been baptized yet.

"Oh shit," someone said, and they all laughed lightly. "You've been taking communion but you aren't baptized?"

"Uh, yeah?" Timothy asked, confused. Hell if he knew what any of this meant. He barely paid enough attention to stand and kneel and sit when they were supposed to, and even then it was because someone nudged him into doing it.

"That's not good," they said, and then preparations were made for him to be baptized. For a moment, he wondered if he should ask  _'do I get a say in this?',_ but some time ago Emilia had misspoken around him.

_This church is heavy-handed,_ she had said. So he reasoned that it wouldn't matter even if he protested. Apparently he was supposed to have been baptized at birth, but he thought back to his father and figured that hadn't happened. Maybe his mother might have, but he never found out what happened to her. So it was just safe to assume he was walking around "filled with original sin," as someone whispered. 

There was a whole meeting about it. Who was going to present him, who would be there, who would act as his parents, godparents, etc. He just wanted Emilia, Allen, Marie, and Komui there. Mother Superior, too, but even he knew that wouldn't happen. So he didn't mention her.

It was a small ceremony. There was an entire room for it, behind the altar. It was disturbing, really. The altar was on a huge raised platform, and at the back was a door. It almost felt like he was being hidden away.

There was a small pool in the floor, just taller than the average man. The tiles made an intricate pattern of diamonds overlaying each other, smaller diamonds formed by what Timothy knew to be real jewels. It was gold, white, jade green and sapphire blue. The water was clear and, undisturbed, it was almost as if it weren't there. High in the ceiling was a circular window, the stained glass forming the portrait of a blonde and green eyed angel. The sunlight bleached everything white and it shined on the jewels in the pool. The water was reflected on the ceiling in undulating patterns, and all in all it was beautiful.

Timothy was made to kneel in the pool, where it came up to his mid-thigh. The priest kept a hand on his forehead though his palm arched away, hesitant to touch his Innocence.

"Praise God who made heaven and earth," he began.

"Who keeps his promise forever," they echoed behind Timothy.

There was a long and lengthy reading, and occasionally his friends would respond as if reading off a script. The only thing keeping Timothy kneeling in the water was the dreaded punishment he'd surely receive from Emilia and probably God, but the bunch of fabric behind his knees was beginning to hurt by the time he felt the priest's hand twitch.

If Timothy had been paying attention he might have noticed, but he hadn't and so it was with a gasp that he felt himself forced backwards, hands scrabbling out to grasp the sides of the pool.

His knees came out from under him as his legs stretched out, his chest submerged first, then his shoulders, and as he sucked in a breath he looked up to meet Allen's eyes.

Through the water he heard, muffled:

"Timothy Hearst, I baptize you, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."

And then he was being brought back up, breath escaping him before he sucked in another, eyes fluttering as water dripped into them.

"Amen."

Allen knelt at the poolside to help him out, tucking a towel around his shoulders and then another to dry his hair gently. Timothy gripped the front of his coat, shivering.

* * *

"Timothy, Timothy, shh," Allen said, hand pressing hard over Timothy's middle. Timothy couldn't help the whimper that passed through his lips even as he squeezed them tight in pain, eyes shut and breath hitching. The mission had gone horribly horribly wrong.

"Allen," he cried, hands falling over Allen's on his stomach. There was something wrong and open, hot liquid falling down his sides. "I don't wanna die! Allen!"

"Shh, Timothy, shh," Allen said, smoothing Timothy's hair back. Timothy grabbed the hand and pressed the back of it against his temple, pushing against the bone in an effort to remove the pain. "I'm sorry, Timothy, I'm sorry."

Someone else came and knelt beside Timothy on the rubble ridden floor, and Allen moved up, gently easing Timothy's head onto his knees. Timothy opened his eyes and immediately Allen's hands came around his face, leaning in close. "Hey, hey, shh, look at me. Look at me, Timothy."

Allen's hair was falling around his face, brushing against Timothy's, and Allen's eyes were wide and silver, the red of his scar horrendously ugly. Yet, the light was filtering through the pale strands, and Timothy remembered that mass that seemed so long ago.

Allen's hand left his face to grasp something, and then there was a bottle nudged against Timothy's lips. "Drink this."

It tasted foul and heavy on his tongue, and Allen's hand clamped over his lips. "Don't spit it out!"

Once he swallowed the offensive liquid, Allen encouraged another sip, and he complied only because it felt like it would help ease the pain searing through his stomach.

"Lucky you're a parasite type," someone said, and Allen's eyes flashed. The bottle fell to the floor with the shattering of glass and his Innocence flared to life around his shoulders. Around him the sunlight glinted, and Timothy squeezed his eyes shut.

"Shut your disgusting mouth or get out of here," Allen snapped, voice low and threatening. Dark, angry. It was frightening, and Timothy whimpered.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Allen said, and Timothy opened his eyes to find Crown Clown gone and Allen facing him again. "It's okay Timothy, you'll be okay. I promise."

"It hurts," Timothy said, voice keening, and Allen brushed his hair back, his eyes watering.

He paused for a long moment, and when he finally spoke his voice was strained. "Mm, I know. I'm proud of you - you did well."

"I did?" Timothy asked, searching through his memories for what he'd done.

"Yes. You did a wonderful job. General Nyne will be so proud."

"Are you?" Timothy asked plaintively.

Allen laughed, a wet sound. "Always."

"Stop your crying and get me a towel!" Kanda snapped, and Allen's face disappeared as he leaned back. Timothy barely tilted his head to look down before Allen's hands were around his face again, cupping his cheeks. His rough thumbs wiped away the wet tracks on his Timothy's cheeks, and he turned into the touch. "You'll be okay - don't look."

His Exorcist jacket had been unbuttoned and lay open around him, his undershirt pushed up to around his chest. Blood ran down his sides, and he could feel it gather in his navel before it dripped over. Another pair of rough hands wiped a red stained cloth over him until it was gone, and then something dripped into his wound.

He bucked up and screamed.

"Kanda! A little warning would have been nice!" Allen yelled, hands shoving Timothy's shoulders down.

"Wouldn't have made a difference," Kanda said bluntly, and then there was a tugging sensation as cloth was wrapped around Timothy's stomach.

"Allen," Timothy groaned, tears running down his cheeks again. His breath hitched on a sob and the motion twinged his wound, sending another round of searing pain through him. "It hurts."

"I'm sorry," Allen said, hands back to his face and wiping away his tears again. Timothy grasped his wrists, opening his eyes. He blinked to clear his vision and felt Allen's gloves capture the tears. Allen was crying too, and Timothy laughed shortly.

"I'm done," Kanda announced, and Allen held Timothy's head firmly as Kanda pulled his shirt down and buttoned his jacket loosely. When he was done, Allen pulled away only to gently bring Timothy into his lap, cradling Timothy against him and rocking softly. "You spoil him."

"Shut up Kanda," Allen said, his voice vibrating in his throat where Timothy's head was pressed against his shoulder. He had seen a puddle of blood surrounding Allen's knees and had quickly looked away.

"You broke it, you dumbass. We don't have anymore." Timothy could hear Kanda stand with a rustle of cloth, a booted toe nudging the glass on the floor.

"That finder deserved it," Allen said, wrath lingering in his voice.

Kanda clicked his tongue. "Spoiling him rotten."

"He's a child," Allen said, hand coming up to cup the back of Timothy's head.

Kanda walked away, and Timothy found his eyes falling shut, heavy. "Go to sleep, Timothy. It's okay. You're okay."

Timothy hummed in response and let himself fall away, surrounding by Allen's strong arms, embraced by his warmth and reminded of an echoing voice.

_I will declare the decree: the Lord hath said unto me,_

_Thou art my Son; this day have I begotten thee._

**Author's Note:**

> Psalm 2:7 "I will declare the decree: the LORD hath said unto me, Thou art my Son; this day have I begotten thee."


End file.
